Character Kiddnapings
by Raekitty13
Summary: Creative writing assigmnent from last year. I was told that if I did not post this my elephants would lose their heads... And FYI I stole Draco  surprise surprise  R
1. Chapter 1

Character: Draco Malfoy

Kidnapped right after Harry saved him in the 7th book

Scenario # 1:

Your character is madly but secretly in love with someone close to him or her, but that person is involved seriously with someone else. A crisis point approaches (a wedding, betrothal, etc.).

Truly Madly Deeply Do

She looked beautiful. Not that she didn't always look beautiful, but today she was positively glowing. Her bushy brown hair was pulled back in an elegant French braid, a small white flower was intertwined in the braid just above her ear. Her brown eyes were searching.

She was looking for someone, standing in the door way, white sun dress fanning around her knees. It made his heart race despite the knowledge that she would never look for him with such hope in her eyes. He was her sworn enemy. If she wasn't the type of girl to set morals and stick with them she probably would have killed him by now. As it was she muttered over and over again that he wasn't worth it. To her he wasn't even good enough to brutally slaughter.

There was no way she was looking for him. Not with that tentative smile, that spark of necessity in her eyes. He knew it wasn't possible and yet it was what he desired most. He felt his face flush at his own thoughts, ashamed and embarrassed as though everyone in the Leaky Cauldron could hear his thoughts.

She was a Mudblood. What would his father think? Watching her over his Butter Beer he had to ask himself moments later, what did it matter?

She was beautiful. She was bloody intelligent and she was brave; braver than he could ever be. If she had to choose between her life and that of her family's, she would sacrifice her own. She was selfless.

He couldn't believe he was even thinking about her. He should just forget about her. She was beneath him. He could do better. But could he?

He thought about calling out to her. Saying her name, just thinking about it sent his heart into overdrive. His palms became slick with sweat and his stomach flip-flopped, his voice died in his throat. He wasn't planning on doing it anyway. She was a Mudblood. She would taint him.

All throughout their Hogwarts years he'd told himself that he had to be mean to her. To be nice would mean he was going against his father's rules, against his own beliefs. To be nice to her would have meant that she would have gotten close. That she would have contaminated his Pure-Blood stature.

Not that he really needed to worry about it now. If he were to go about boasting his linage, people would assume he was trying to bring the Death Eaters back into existence. Blood status had been eradicated by Potter. It was no longer proper or important. People were just people. He couldn't wrap his head around it. It was like believing the world was round all of your life and waking up one day to people hounding you about how it was actually square. You didn't want to believe it, you wanted proof, and you found every excuse you could come up with to ignore or degrade the evidence supplied. But when nobody was looking, you had to take a second glance and admit to yourself that maybe, just maybe the world really was square. Not that you would ever admit it publicly, or explicitly remember telling yourself so.

He had too much pride to admit that he had been so wrong. He had too much pride in his family name, too much pride in himself, too much pride in the old way of going about things to let the world see him as a changed man. He had too much to lose. Not that there was much left of his confidence. To even be seen talking to her – if she would even talk to him civilly- it would cost him the rest of his dignity.

He couldn't do it, wouldn't do it. Telling himself that it wasn't because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to, didn't have to. He was above her. He could do better.

She stepped further into the Pub and continued to look around, walking slowly toward the bar where he sat. He suddenly couldn't breathe. Was she going to talk to him? Had she really been looking for him?

As she drew closer, her tentative smile growing more confident, he prepared himself to say one word. He prepared himself to say her name, to acknowledge her existence for the first time in his life in a civil manner.

He smiled back feebly, worrying about whether or not he had a Butter Beer mustache. He ran his hand around the corners of his mouth nervously, repeating her name to himself so as to not mangle it.

She drew closer, he took a deep breath, "Her-"

"Ronald!" She exhaled, suddenly rushing toward the man of her dreams, toward the man who wasn't Draco, wasn't anything like him, wasn't anything Hermione deserved.

She could do better, so much better, Draco told himself, her name dying on his lips, his nervousness turning to hatred and his unconscious hope shattered, confidence ruined as she excitedly rambled, "Of course I'll marry you! But you really shouldn't have sent the ring by Post. It could have gotten lost or stolen. God only knows what would have happened if I had said no…"

Draco stood up quickly, leaving a galleon tip on the table, hoping to avoid a public meltdown, wanting to get as far away from his private rejection as possible. The world really was circular. Mudbloods really were below him. He could do so much better than Granger. He didn't love her. He would never love her, never had.

Draco buried all of his feelings deep into his subconscious as he walked as collectedly as possible from the dark depths of the Leaky Cauldron, never to be dredged up until he saw her again, or his thoughts strayed to what could have been.


	2. Chapter 2

Scenario # 2:

Your character has been robbed of a very important person, object, or piece of information and wishes to get it back.

Stolen

Draco waltzed into his dormitory and plopped down on his bed, pulled the green curtains around him for a bit of extra privacy despite the fact that he was the only person in the room. He reached under his bed and pulled out a small locked chest. He then pulled out his wand and a small pocket knife laced with a potion to heal any wound created by the blade. One of the first his father had ever given him, back in grade school. His father had called it a training blade, but for Draco it now held a better purpose.

He pointed his wand at the chest and whispered, "Mudbloods are scum."

The chest opened with a quiet snap. He placed the Chest under his pillow and peered around the curtains to check one last time that there was nobody in the dormitory with him.

There wasn't. He was safe. He closed the curtains once more and pulled the chest back out from underneath his pillow. He placed his wand on the bed beside him and gently laid the chest in his lap. He withdrew a very rustic journal from the depths of the box before casting it aside as well.

He paused momentarily, looking at the cover. Did he dare open it here? What was that noise? Was someone here?

He took a deep breath and chided himself mentally, _"Who honestly cares what you write in your DIARY, Draco."_

All the same he sat motionless, refusing to breathe, listening for the imaginary intruder. After he turned blue in the face he took another calming, much needed, breath and proceeded to pricking his thumb with the enchanted blade.

A small pool of blood formed on his thumb before the magic began to seal the small cut. He ran his thumb, blood and all along the spine of the book before him. There was no visible lock, but with out a drop of his blood smeared just so along the outer binding the book would not open.

As it was the book now opened warmly at his touch and he ruffled the top left corners of the book lovingly, the scent of musty old book tickling his nose in a familiar manner. His mother had given him the book. It had been passed down the Black family linage for a while. He could read the writing of anyone who had possessed the Black family blood line and had written in the book before him.

It was interesting and more so now than before, Draco was merely interested in reading what his ancestors had written. His first year at Hogwarts he had written his heart out and now more than ever, he wished he could tear the old pages out, or blot them. Not even fire was successful at riding the world of his darkest secrets. He had been a fool to write them down.

His silly little whims and wishes.

He had written about how his father had been a Death Eater, how all of the other children should have respected him more because of his Blood Status. Pure-Bloods should be revered always. He had also written about Granger before he knew she was a Mudblood. It was embarrassing. If his father ever found it he would disown him. If his mother ever found it she would die of shame.

Nobody could ever find it. If they did, Draco's life would be over. He couldn't pass it on to his own children. They wouldn't respect him. Draco needed to hide it. Find a place to bury it for good.

But he couldn't. There was always the chance that somebody else would find it. That they would find it and manage to open it. Maybe they would even force Draco to open it for them. He closed the book with a snap and uttered, "Vengeance Plotted."

He placed the diary back into the chest. Muttered once more about how horrible Mudbloods were, shoved the knife back into his pocket and carefully concealed the chest in the mist of all the junk he kept under his bed. He unwound the curtains, checked the room once more and sauntered off.

As soon as Draco was gone, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from around his shoulders and whispered to Ron, "How much you wanna bet that Draco keeps a diary about how much he wants to kill me?"

Ron's head full of flaming red hair appeared next to Harry's after a bit of a struggle. "I don't think he wants to kill you, mate. I think he writes about how much he wishes he could be you instead."

"Shall we open it and see?" Harry asked, dropping the cloak on the floor and walking over to the dorm door. He locked it with a simple charm before turning back towards Draco's bed.

"Okay," Ron was muttering from the depths of the underside of Draco's bed. "Let's just read it and put it back though. I don't fancy having Crabbe and Goyle after me for stealing Draco's diary."

They pulled the chest out together, grudgingly muttered Draco's password and pulled the diary out. They attempted to open it, but the covers wouldn't budge. Harry was about to suggest that they simply put it back when there was a muffled cry as someone ran into the locked door.

Ron kicked the chest back under the bed and slipped the diary into his belt loop as Harry threw the invisibility cloak back over them just as the door opened and Draco reentered.

"Did I lock my chest back up?" Draco asked himself. "And who locked the bloody door?"

Harry and Ron slipped past Draco silently. He reached under his bed and pulled out the open and empty chest, panic stricken. He dove under his bed and began to throw things about. By the time everything was out from under his bed he was no longer breathing. His secrets were walking around Hogwarts somewhere.

Taking a deep breath he told himself that nobody at school could open it. He would just have to figure out who had stolen it and get it back. He had been so sure there hadn't been anybody in the room with him. He had checked so many times—but he had heard something…

"Potter," the noise should have given him away the instant Draco hadn't seen anyone. How many times had Potter dragged his Muggle loving Father's invisible blankey around?

His cold grey eyes narrowed and his panic fled. He'd get his diary back. He'd get it back and bash Potter's head in in the process. Two birds with one stone.

He almost called out to Crabbe and Goyle, but stopped himself. He couldn't tell them that his DIARY had been stolen. He'd have to get it back himself. Not that it would be a problem…


	3. Chapter 3

Scenario # 3:

It is the Zombie Apocalypse.

Survival of the Fittest

Draco Malfoy was sitting in the Great Hall minding his own business—okay, so maybe he was torturing a Hufflepuff first year by the name of Genus—but what he was doing was irrelevant, so for the sake of the narrative, (and my career as an author) he was doing nothing out of the ordinary to warrant such a reaction from the universe. All of a sudden a magic bean fell from the ceiling of the Great Hall and hit him squarely on the head.

Draco didn't have a sudden understanding of gravity, such over thinking was up to the Ravenclaw House, not Slytherin. Instead it was his fellow bully, Crabbe, whom had daunted upon a sudden revelation.

"ZOMBIES!" He cried, jumping up from his seat, running in the direction of the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Crabbe, you bumbling moron, get back here. There are no such things as -"

"ZOMBIES!" Goyle, Draco's other set of muscles finished for him, utter terror written across his otherwise blank face. He was too slow to actually run, but if he could have he would have fled as fast as humanly possible. As it was, Draco caught him by the shirt collar before he was even half way up and shoved him back into his seat.

"I swear you two make me look bad. We're in the middle of something here; get your head in the game."

The poor little first year looked downright terrified. His puppy brown eyes were begging for mercy. Draco wasn't about to give it to him, the mercy that was. Draco sneered at the kid as his eyes grew wider, fear spreading like wildfire across his face. Goyle was still trembling beside the boy.

"Z-zombie," the boy whispered.

Draco laughed. "Puh-lease. Do I look anywhere near as stupid as my minions? You can't scare me the same way you managed to scare Crabbe and Goyle."

The little boy shook his head and whispered again, this time more frantically, arm pointed behind Draco. "Zombie."

Draco didn't even turn around. "You're going to wish I was a brainless zombie. You'd be a lot safer that way. As it is," Draco proceeded to roll up the sleeve of his robe. "I'm a Death Eater, I've got more brains than a zombie, and I'm six times as dangerous, guaranteed. Now hand over all of your chocolate frogs…"

The boy emptied his pockets willingly and Draco felt as if he had scored big time. There were over thirty chocolate frogs sitting on the Slytherin table by the time the boy had run toward the teacher's table.

"What a wimp," Draco muttered, scooping his prize into his pockets.

"Hnnghh," replied Goyle.

"Merlin, can't you even form words now? At least try to act like you possess a brain. That's all I really ask," Draco ranted, tearing open the last candy left on the table.

"Grrrhhnniii!"

"And really, toothpaste is a virtue. More so than patients. Get some, okay? That's disgusting."

"Huuuhhhraahhh!" It was when Goyle reached his green-ish gray, decomposing hand across Draco's arm to slap the chocolate frog on the ground that Draco realized that Goyle was either deathly ill or newly raised from the dead. Goyle wasn't Goyle.

He was a –

"ZOMBIE!" Draco cried, flinging the wrapper, card and remaining chocolate frog at what he had assumed was his friend only moments before. "ZOMBIEEEE!"

He dove under the table and crawled on his hands and knees to the end furthest from his attacker. He then took a minute to breathe and reflect upon his surroundings. There were kids everywhere under the tables, on top of the tables, but more than the kids, there were half dead zombies EVERYWHERE.

He scanned the room continuously thinking, "Where is Potter when you need him?"

Harry, as it was, was nowhere to be found and the zombies just kept piling into the Great Hall. Draco reached into his robes and dumped half of the stolen chocolate frogs on the floor. He found his wand and pulled it out.

Without moving out from underneath the table Draco shouted, "STUPIFY!" And gulped in fear when nothing happened.

The zombies should have stopped moving once the red beam hit them, but it didn't work. Next he tried, "Petrificus Totalus, Impedimenta,Incarcerous, AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Nothing was working. Magic had no effect what so ever on the onslaught of zombies. His best bet of survival would be escape, but he was too far from the door and it was where the zombies were coming in from. If he were to survive he would need to escape through the teacher's door.

Judging by the distance uncovered by tables, he'd never make it. He really was better off curling into a ball and crying under the table as he was currently doing. Maybe they would simply assume he was worthless. Maybe they'd pass over him. What was the charm to turn himself invisible?

Suddenly he remembered and muttered it, watching his extremities vanish. Hopefully they wouldn't see him now. As long as he could hold back the loudest sobs and squeals, he should be safe. It was probably shortly after casting himself invisible that Draco passed out…


End file.
